The Crowfield Demon (3 page)

A few minutes later the bailiff returned. “Sir Robert will see you. Wipe your boots over there before you come in,” he said, pointing to a patch of grass near the gateway. William did as he was told while Master Maudit waited for him with obvious impatience. When he'd scraped off the worst of the mud, William hurried across the yard and followed the bailiff into the house.

A wooden staircase led up to a doorway that had been hacked through the thick wall of the older building. The door stood ajar. The bailiff knocked and pushed it open.

“This is the boy from the abbey, my lord,” he said. He grabbed William's sleeve and pulled him forward. A man stood by the huge fireplace, his hands clasped behind his back. He was about William's height, slight of build and probably in his late forties. He had a thin, clean-shaven face beneath closely cropped gray hair and an unmistakable air of authority.

“Come into the light, where I can see you properly.”

William walked farther into the room and stood there awkwardly. The wooden floorboards were not covered with straw or rushes, but with brilliantly colored and patterned pieces of cloth. They didn't look as if they'd been woven or embroidered, and the surface of the fabric had a glossy sheen. He wondered why anyone would put such beautiful things on the floor for people to walk on. The toes of his boots just touched the edge of one, and he took a hasty step backward.

“What's your name?”

“William Paynel, my lord,” he said, ducking his head in a quick bow.

“My bailiff tells me the abbey church is about to fall down, William. Is that so?”

“I . . . I don't know for sure. There's a crack in the chancel wall, and the ground on that side of the church is underwater. Prior Ardo is worried that the wall might collapse. He asked if you could spare a stonemason to come and look at it.”

Sir Robert turned to the bailiff. “Fetch Master Guillaume.”

The bailiff nodded and left the room.

“How long have you lived at the abbey?” Sir Robert asked, after regarding William in silence for several moments.

“Since the summer before last.”

“So you met Master Bone and his manservant last winter?”

William looked at the man warily. Of all the things Sir Robert could have asked him, this was the most unexpected. “Yes, my lord,” he said cautiously.

“I was told that the manservant, Shadlok, stayed at the abbey after Master Bone's death. Is that so?”

“Yes.” Why was Sir Robert interested in Shadlok?

Sir Robert was quiet for some moments. “How does he fit in there? Amongst the holy brothers?”

“Well enough, my lord,” William said. He was feeling more uncomfortable by the moment.

“I would have said he had little in common with them.” The sharp gray eyes watched him closely.

William twisted his hands together behind his back and said nothing. Did Sir Robert somehow know that Shadlok was a fay? Did he suspect that William knew it, too?

Sir Robert walked over to a window and folded his arms. He looked down at the courtyard behind the house and seemed to be lost in his thoughts. His dark tunic was somber, but even William could tell that the cloth was of the finest quality. There was a heavy silver buckle on his belt and he wore a gold ring on one finger. And he was
clean
, William noticed, from his carefully cut fingernails to his soft calfskin boots.

William glanced surreptitiously around the room. He had never dreamed that such luxury existed. More of the vividly colored cloths hung on the walls, showing people on horseback hunting in forest glades. There were tables and chairs, chests and two large cupboards, all richly carved and gleaming in the light from the four narrow, arched windows. There was a closed door in the end wall, half hidden behind the folds of a wall cloth. On either side of the window embrasures there were seats piled with embroidered cushions, and a richly decorated candlestick, as tall as a man and made of silver, stood beside the huge fireplace.

What would it be like to live in such a house? William wondered. To look out of the window and know that everything you saw belonged to you?

Something caught William's eye and he gasped in surprise. On a table lay Jacobus Bone's lute. Sir Robert turned at the sound. He saw what William was looking at and frowned slightly.

“You recognize it?”

“It belonged to Master Bone,” William said hesitantly.
And he left it to me when he died
, he added silently.
It is rightfully
mine.

Sir Robert walked over to the table and picked up the lute. He held it for a moment, his fingers spread over the strings, and then he began to pick out a tune with his thumb and forefinger.

William held his breath. His heart seemed to swell inside his chest as he listened to the music. The sound was as perfect as he had known it would be.

Sir Robert finished the tune and laid the lute carefully back down on the table. “A fine instrument,” he said softly, his fingers gently stroking the golden wood.

The hollow thump of footsteps sounded on the staircase outside the door, and the bailiff came into the room, closely followed by a tall, well-built man with sun-browned skin. The mason wore a leather apron, and his sleeves were rolled up, revealing muscular forearms covered with thick black hair. He pulled off his woollen hat and stood in the doorway. There was a look of distaste on Sir Robert's face as his gaze flickered down to the mason's boots, caked with mud and stone dust.

William barely listened as Sir Robert explained the situation to Master Guillaume and arranged for the mason to visit the abbey the following day. Instead, he stared at the lute and remembered the sound it had made. He was filled with a strange hunger, an urge to grab it and run. It was a sin to covet another man's possessions, but sin or no sin, it should have been
his
. He glanced up at Sir Robert with a frown. The lord of Weforde was a wealthy man with so many fine and valuable possessions already. Why should he have the lute as well, simply because he had money to buy it?

“Tell Prior Ardo that my master mason will be there first thing in the morning,” Sir Robert said, glancing at William. He turned his attention to a sheet of parchment on the table beside him and ignored the bowed heads of William and the two men.

The bailiff nudged William in the back and pushed him toward the doorway. William hurried down the staircase behind Master Guillaume. He stepped out into the yard and glanced up with a weary sigh. It had begun to rain again.

C
HAPTER
FOUR

W
hen William reached the green, Robin wasn't there. He looked around in dismay, but he couldn't see the red-haired boy anywhere. With the market over and the rain falling steadily, there were few people about. William pulled up his hood and trudged across the muddy green, past the empty pinfold, and onto the lane through the village.

The breeze was picking up. It drove the low gray clouds across the sky and set the rain hard at William's back. As he passed the houses along the lane, he could hear the sounds of busy lives going on inside: voices, laughter, shouting, dogs barking. He could smell food cooking. In one small hut, someone was singing. In the crofts behind the houses, he glimpsed chickens and pigs sheltering from the rain. Only the geese and ducks around the pond on the green seemed to like the weather. William's spirits sank lower by the minute. It seemed as if everyone was safe and warm indoors, while he still had the long and lonely walk through Foxwist ahead of him.

William wasn't paying attention to where he was putting his feet and stepped into a deep puddle. Cold muddy water swamped one boot. Cursing under his breath, he pulled off his boot to tip out the water. His stocking was dripping.
Much more of this and I'll grow webbed feet and start to quack
, William thought, as he tried to wring out the saturated foot of his hose. He put his boot on and set off again, trying to ignore his chilly discomfort as he squelched along.

William reached the plank bridge over the ditch between the village and the West Field. The village boys were still running about, their voices shrill and distant. He watched them with envy. It was a long time since he had felt that carefree.

He saw a figure up ahead, walking quickly toward the village from the direction of the forest, head down against the rain. Clinging to its shoulder was a white crow, dipping and swaying with each hurried step. It was Dame Alys and Fionn, William realized. The thought of meeting the wise woman on this lonely stretch of track was not a comfortable one, but she turned off onto a path skirting the West Field, heading for Weforde mill.

Dame Alys noticed William and came to a sudden halt, leaning heavily on her walking stick. She was too far away for him to see her face clearly, but he felt the sharp stab of her stare. The crow fell forward into a wide-winged swoop, landing with a boun carrying a sack. The rough cloth and the hand gripping the neck of the sack were covered with something dark. It might have been mud, but it was hard to tell at this distance.

William jumped when someone put a hand on his arm. He turned and was surprised to see Robin. He hadn't heard the boy approach. He glanced back at Dame Alys, but the woman had turned away and was now walking quickly toward the mill, poling herself along with her stick. The sack was hidden by the folds of her cloak. Fionn flew on ahead, a glimmer of white against the gray sky.

“I'm sorry I wasn't waiting for you,” Robin said with a smile. His woollen hat was rolled up and tucked into his belt, and his wet hair hung clung to his neck. He wasn't wearing a cloak and the shoulders and back of his tunic were soaked, but he didn't seem to care. “I went to the alehouse to buy this.” He opened his battered old leather bag and took out a small loaf of maslin bread. It had been pulled apart and a thick slice of cheese stuffed inside. He tore it in half and offered a piece to William.

For a few moments, William hesitated. It was Lent, and the eating of meat, or cheese or milk or butter — anything coming from an animal — wasn't allowed, other than on a Sunday, and today was only Wednesday.

“Aren't you hungry?” Robin asked.

“It's Lent,” William said reluctantly. He saw Robin's blank look and felt a flicker of surprise. “Don't you fast for Lent?”

Robin smiled thinly and glanced at the hunk of bread. “It seems not. Don't you want this?”

“Well, yes,” William said, “but . . .”

“But what?”

“I shouldn't.”

Robin's eyes narrowed. “Who would know if you ate it? I won't tell anyone.”

William was sorely tempted. Hunger gnawed with rat-sharp teeth at his stomach. Would it
really
be so bad to eat the bread and cheese? He would work extra hard in the abbey for the rest of Lent to make up for it. The prior would have his hide if he found out, but surely God wouldn't punish him too harshly?

“All right, thank you,” William said at last, grinning with delight. He took the bread and sank his teeth into it. It was still warm, and the cheese had softened. There was even a smear of melting butter on the bread. Yet another sin to add to his growing list. He closed his eyes with pleasure and chewed slowly. He had never tasted anything so wonderful before. When he opened his eyes, he saw that Robin was watching him with amusement.

“Don't they feed you at the abbey?”

“If you can call it food,” William said. “It's not like this. And there's never enough of it, especially now that Lent has begun.” He took another mouthful and muffled, “Though that's probably not a bad thing.”

He noticed that Robin didn't touch his piece of bread. Instead, the boy tucked it back into his bag.

“You delivered your message safely?” Robin asked.

William nodded. “Sir Robert is sending his master mason to the abbey in the morning.”

“And will this mason be able to stop the church from collapsing, do you think?”

William made a face. “I hope so. How long will you stay in Yagleah?”

“A day, a week, who knows?” Robin looked sideways at William with the slightest of smiles. “Perhaps I will never leave.”

William thought this was an odd thing to say. “Where did you live before you took to the road with your flute?”

“It wouldn't mean a thing to you if I told you, but I am a
long
way from home.”

“Have you ever been to London?” William asked after a few moments. Since his brother Hugh had set out for London three years ago, he'd been curious about the city. He wanted to be able to picture in his mind where his brother was; perhaps then Hugh wouldn't feel quite so far away.

“Many times. Why do you ask?”

“My brother Hugh is there. At least, I think he is. That's where he was going when he left home.”

“It's a long journey from Iwele to London. A lot can happen along the way. For all you know, he might be lying dead in a ditch somewhere,” Robin said with a shrug.